


The Test 2

by sunnyuptnorth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, No Dean, Sad Castiel, Tired Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-04
Updated: 2014-09-04
Packaged: 2018-02-16 03:45:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2254644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunnyuptnorth/pseuds/sunnyuptnorth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas testing his limitations on his own, now Dean is missing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Test 2

A dull ache radiated across his shoulders, brought into sharp focus when he carelessly turned his head, twanging his neck painfully. Rolling his shoulders warily now, Sam sat up straight and closed his eyes with a sigh, relishing the cool darkness behind his eyelids, a balm to the dry scratchy feeling gained by staring too long at the page in front of him. Eyes still closed, he reached to his right, clumsy fingers knocking the beer bottle off the table onto the reading room floor. Cursing, he dipped his head below the level of the desk, praying there wasn’t a puddle of beer, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw the bottle was empty. Sam sat up again and contemplated getting up for another one, dismissing the idea quickly as he realised he should probably call it a night. He glanced up at the clock and realised he ought to call it a morning instead. Goddamn it.

  
Shuffling towards his bedroom, a faint off rhythm sound gradually made itself known, a sound Sam realised he’d been hearing for a while. The only other person in the bunker right now was Cas. Sam shut his eyes again, a traitorous corner of his mind pressing him to pretend he never heard the sound so he could lie down and just pass out. The greater part of his mind though knew that Cas was family and Cas was hurting, and if the noise was being made by Cas then Sam, as surrogate brother, had to investigate. Cas had been quieter than usual over the last couple of days, eating little and only emerging from his room to replace one stack of books with another, looking increasingly frustrated, tired and pale. Neither of them as yet had any luck with their research on the Mark of Cain or how to cleanse a soul of its effects. With a resigned sigh, Sam turned slightly, trying to pin down the direction the sound was coming from. The noise bounced around oddly, echoing off the tiled corridor walls of the bunker, making it difficult to locate but Sam decided that it was coming from the direction of the firing range and gymnasium.

  
After a cursory glance through into the empty firing range, Sam strode over to the double doors of the gymnasium and peered through the small grid set into the safety glass of the windows set high into the doors from where he could now make out the sound of quiet music, all other noise now gone. In the far corner of the room was where his brother disappeared to let off steam when the lack of a hunt left him with cabin fever. It was a cosy little setup with a punching bag, weights and a tape deck for his music. The thought of his absent brother brought a stab of pain to the centre of Sam’s chest, a pain that wasn’t diminishing over time.

  
Directly in front of the punching bag hanging from the ceiling was Cas, dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a crappy t-shirt, barefoot and dishevelled, back heaving with deep breaths. Taking a deep breath, Sam opened the door and made his way across the gymnasium, unconsciously avoiding stepping on the painted lines that criss-crossed the wooden floor, years of avoiding newly painted devils traps ingrained in his muscle memory.

  
Approaching cautiously for the last few steps, Sam cleared his throat to get the angels attention, before leaning over to turn off the sounds of early Led Zeppelin. The only reaction from Cas he could see was a slight lowering of shoulders, maybe a slump of the usually ramrod straight back.

  
“Sam” Cas’ usually deep voice sounded gravelly with disuse as he continued “I thought you’d be in bed by now, did I disturb you?”

  
“Nah man, you’re fine. I was on my way there but thought I’d check on you first. You er, getting a workout in then?” Sam realised he was pointing out the bloody obvious, and expected the usual curt reply to say as such, but Cas just shrugged and continued to stare at the punch bag. Deciding he was really too tired for this, Sam switched his focus from the back of Cas’ sweaty t-shirt to the punch bag, searching his sluggish brain for something else to say, some small talk he could make before he could politely say good night and head back upstairs. His tired eyes focussed upon the bag, following the lines of stitching and spotting areas of wear in the leather from long years of use. Odd colour though, he thought, he could’ve sworn the bag was a light brown colour, then realised his tired brain was rambling. Sam opened his mouth to say goodnight, stepping forward and round as he did so to come face to face with Cas, but clicked his teeth together in shock as his sleep deprived brain finally joined the dots as his eyes caught the bloody sight of the angels hands.

  
“Damnit Cas, what have you been doing?” Sam muttered as he eyed up the leather punch bag, now recognisably stained with blood. Making a grab for the nearest balled fist and meeting no resistance from the angel, Sam carefully examined the back of the hand, wiping some fresh blood and flakes of older, crusty blood away to expose an expanse of unblemished skin. Not even a bruise to show, despite the obvious signs something had occurred from the blood on the punching bag, floor, and the t-shirt Cas was wearing. Letting go of the bloody fist, Sam grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him round fully, head bent down to force eye contact, but to no avail as the angel continued to stare at the floor. “What’s been going on Cas, what have you been doing?”

  
“It’s quite funny really” Cas began, coughing into his bloody fist to clear his voice, clearly not amused, despite his words “as this stolen grace fades, I find I am able to do certain things still, like heal myself” pausing for a moment he continued “However, my tolerance for alcohol has disappeared and subsequent tests have shown I am able to get considerably more drunk than I’m used to”. As if to illustrate his point, Cas used his bare foot to nudge the empty bottle of scotch that had rolled to one side. “I couldn’t heal you when you cut your hand in the kitchen yesterday, but I can still talk to one of my brothers on the other side of the planet with just a thought”

  
Stepping forward and round Sam with sudden purpose, Cas punched the leather bag in front of him with such force it rocked right back, Sam having to step to the side hurriedly to avoid the backswing. “I have plenty of strength still, but my vessel is weakening despite the quick healing” and to demonstrate Cas held out his hand to show Sam, who winced reflexively at the split knuckles on show, fresh blood welling up and dripping slowly down the side of the hand onto the floor. Without waiting for it to heal, Cas drew his hand back for another punch, only Sam’s hand on his bicep stopping him following it through. Sam’s hand tightened on the skin below Cas’ t-shirt sleeve at the same time as he huffed out a tired “stop Cas, just stop”.  
Swallowing with difficulty Sam repeated his plea for Cas to stop, “listen man, its really early, we both need some sleep and this isn’t helping anyone. So let’s head upstairs and get some shut eye”. Sam tried eye contact again, which worked this time. Bloody Hell Sam thought, taking a step back in fright as Cas’ eyebrows cut sharply down above cold blue eyes that cut into him like knives, the angels jaw clenched so hard Sam he imagined he could hear the creak of teeth.

  
“Sleep” Cas rumbled bitterly “ah, yes, another example of my failing grace”. Frown deepening, Cas continued, a cruel lilt in his tone now “tell me Sam, how is sleeping going to find a way to rid Dean of the Mark of Cain, cleanse his soul, and bring him back to us?” breaking his laser like focus on Sam’s face, Cas dipped his head and turned at the same time, bare feet padding noiselessly over to the hobby horse in the corner. With a practiced move, he lifted the top section with one arm, rooted around with the other arm to the sound of clinking glass, and withdrawing his hand wrapped around the neck of a fresh bottle of scotch. Waving the bottle at Sam, Cas moved over to the stereo and clicked the large play button, quiet strains of classic Zeppelin filling the gymnasium again.

  
“right now Sam, I am going to drink this, listen to some music and find out what else I’m not capable of doing anymore” suddenly Cas sniggered as he slid down the wall under the shelf with the stereo “I am holding what Dean would call a pity party”.

  
Frowning at the angel, a wave of exhaustion washed over Sam and he felt his body sag. He was too tired, and too thoroughly done with it all. As he turned away from the sad figure hunched over on the floor, Sam spoke quietly over his shoulder to huff a sad “good night Cas” before he headed back upstairs.


End file.
